


Star Wars Episode VII: Two Different Axles

by the_sun_also_rises12



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Action, Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force-Sensitive Finn, I'm Bad At Tagging, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-24 21:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14363769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sun_also_rises12/pseuds/the_sun_also_rises12
Summary: A line drawn in the sand, from him to her.





	1. Master, Take the Chains Off Me

**Author's Note:**

> I saw TLJ, and thought it was the most disappointing thing since my son. Just kidding. Sort of. Anyway, it inspired me (I guess that's the word for it) to write an alternate universe story utilizing a lot of similar concepts from the new movies, and many more ideas that are my own.
> 
> Moving on. My knowledge of the Star Wars universe derives from the movies. Everything else is supplemented by wookiepedia, or intentionally changed because I do what I want.
> 
> Cheers.

 "We live in a world on two different axles." 

  _Twin black moons set against a white night sky. Beneath lies a pale blue desert. The silhouette of a ship glides past._

_Something, no, someone, walks toward her. She feels as though she has waited a long time to meet them._

Rey wakes up. She prepares for work. Wraps her face in protective cloth, straps on her goggles, swallows down a meager amount of water, and leaves.

 

* * *

She uncovers a decent haul. Enough for a singular meal at least.

Hunger licks up her sides at the thought. Rey's constant companion, along with its twin, thirst. Sometimes muted, sometimes unbearable, but always present.

Rey surfs down toward her speeder on a smooth, rounded metal plate. Wind and sand tears at her headgear. It almost feels like flying. Corpses of broken battleships litter the ground.

They call it Starship Graveyard for a reason.

Emptiness consumes her as she drifts, another piece of discarded scrap among the dunes. All too soon it ends.

Lashing down her findings, Rey then drives the speeder back home. There she will clean what she found before heading to Niima Outpost. Less expensive than using Unkar's sanitation station.

The AT-AT she dwells in lies on its side, partly submerged like a beached nightwalker. Rey loosens the wraps of her headgear, takes a swig of her canteen, and whistles upon approaching.

After several seconds, BB-8 rolls out from its hiding spot, beeping its own greeting. They have multiple established protocols and secret crannies for when Rey leaves. She dreads the day she returns and BB-8 does not answer her call.

"Get ready, we're heading to the Outpost," she says. BB-8 responds with clear disapproval. "Did you forget? The Kelvin Ravine run is today."

BB-8's reply sounds sheepish.

Every six months, Rey flies supplies for Unkar Plutt to the colony Tuanul.  Difficult to reach, isolated atop a mesa, the villagers are reclusive yet peaceful. Spiritual. They try cheating her far less often than anyone else Rey knows.

"Well, come on then." She gestures, striding away.

And Lor San Tekka lives there. He knows many things, has seen many wonders. Rey brightens a little at the thought, looking younger, less haggard.

* * *

"Three-fourths quarter portions," Unkar says after inspecting everything. Cheap bastard. 

Rey stays silent but scowls. BB-8 emits an outraged noise. Unkar ignores them both and exchanges her hard earned components for a mouthful of sustenance.

"Is the Hawk ready?" she asks.

Unkar grunts, dried-out, flabby skin quivering. He dislikes reminders of her piloting abilities and they both know it. She often pushes his boundaries almost to the breaking point.

"Of course. Now get out of my sight and do your job."

Rey tamps down her rising anger.

The HWK-290 is a light freighter from the days of the Old Republic. She recalls many hot, grueling hours spent fixing it, Unkar breathing down her neck all the while. Failure has never been an option.

Rey ignores the enmity of the other scavengers in Niima Outpost. They know Unkar favors her, and thus they resent her. She does not blame them. One older alien catches her attention.

The decrepit alien appears worn down, collapsing inward under an invisible weight, scrubbing at metal components with arthritis stricken digits. Rey wonders if that will be her own fate one day. Jakku chews up the weak and either spits them back out, shattered, or swallows them whole.

Rey exhales. No. Her parents are returning home. Someday. And then she will be set free.

Quickening her pace, Rey walks toward the Hawk. It waits, friendly and familiar, white-and-orange exterior encrusted with sand. Unkar ripped out the hyperdrive long ago, not that it matters; she has no intention of running. Rey does not run. 

BB-8 hums as they enter the cockpit. It assists her with co-piloting duties. Rey barely remembers how she ever flew without the little droid's assistance. After a series of routine checks, Unkar's flunkies clear her for take off.

Rey lifts up into Jakku's bright blue sky. Niima Outpost shrinks, becoming a pinprick lost amidst shades of copper. The Hawk vibrates beneath her firm grip. A tight smile crosses her face. Soul light and unfettered, it swoops alongside the aircraft's wingspan.

When flying everything else falls away, if only for a little while.

* * *

Lor San Tekka watches Rey wolf down her meal. His eyes press against her but he says nothing. She never denies Tekka when he offers free food. The tough, broiled vegetables have a very different texture from the portions she consumes most days. They taste bitter. Portions taste like nothingness.

Darkness descends upon Jakku. Twin moons hang heavy in a dark, clear sky. Rey will spend the night and return to Niima Outpost come morning with supplies. It is tradition, every six months like clockwork, and one of the few she cherishes. 

Rey rotates a shoulder, sore from unloading heavy crates much of the afternoon on top of scavenging earlier, before licking grease off her fingers. 

"Tell me a story," she says, finally.

"You have heard them all, I think." Tekka chuckles. Torchlight casts strange, flickering shadows on his weathered features. He looks old and tired.

"I don't care. I like hearing them again." She wraps her arms around her knees, drawing them up to her chest.

Tekka smiles and then tells her about the Crèche, an ancient race that protected a giant egg, believing it would hatch a savior and bring peace to the galaxy. His words flow forth, warm and comforting, washing over her like rolling waves. Sometimes Rey dreams of the ocean. She imagines it looks like Tekka sounds.

"What would all that peace be like?" Rey knows this story. She tries to envision it. No one ever hungry or thirsty. No more need for scavengers, for broken down AT-AT walls ruined by hundreds of tally marks. She wonders if people will still be lonely.

Tekka bears an odd expression.

"It is difficult to realize. More a dream than anything. But I have hope," he says.

"In the New Republic?"

"In... in the Force." Tekka sighs and leans against the wall of his adobe hut. He stares up at nothing.

Rey quells a surge of resentment. The people of Tuanul, including Tekka, worship the Force. Rey just wishes it could be useful. Something more tangible than platitudes. Platitudes still leave a stomach empty, a throat dry.

"Tell me about the Rebellion," Rey says, not knowing how to frame her thoughts with words, therefore letting them dissolve. He laughs. 

"Now those are tales you have definitely heard many a time. I actually met Luke Skywalker once. A real Jedi, in the flesh! I admired him so much, he had such strength of purpose..." Tekka trails off, then seems to find himself again. "We sought out ancient Jedi texts together. So much was lost during the Empire's reign. Thirty years later, and the New Republic is still picking up the pieces."

She understands what he implies.

Rey thinks of long, cold, hungry nights and how hard Unkar hits her when she loses her temper and mouths back at him. On a planet like Jakku, it does not seem to matter who rules. Everyone suffers always.

Then she thinks about how much she loves Tekka's stories. They offer a chance at escape. Rey pretends to go on exciting adventures with heroes such as Luke Skywalker and Han Solo and Leia Organa, plucky underdogs combating overwhelming odds. Together.

They keep her company while she waits for her family, provide comfort in the self-imposed cage of her own mind.

"Rey." Tekka pulls her out of her thoughts. She looks up. "I want you to, that is, there's, there's someone I want you to meet. Someone who can help you."

"Help me find my parents?" Rey perks up. Tekka winces.

"N... no, well --."

BB-8 rolls in, frantic, speaking of strange airships. 

"What?" Rey blinks and stands, ducking outside.

She sees lights on the horizon, rapidly approaching. Dread premonition raises hair on the back of Rey's neck. A rustle as Tekka appears by her side. He assesses the situation. 

"You need to leave," he says.

Ignoring him, Rey pivots and grabs her quarterstaff. Carrier-class ships descend and open. Out of their maw marches a stark white wall. She recognizes the infamous stormtrooper armor, having scavenged bits and pieces of it in the desert.

They stand at attention for a moment, eerily silent. Then they raise their blasters and open fire. Tuanul is under attack.

Screams and laser beams intertwine, forming a discordant symphony; burnt flesh, an acrid scent, clogs dry air. Villagers rally and begin fighting back. Although the mesa protects them, they still defend themselves from time to time. But never a concerted attack of this magnitude.

Rey hides, waits, and pounces. She ambushes stormtroopers from behind and knocks them out with her staff. In the abrupt chaos, she loses sight of Tekka. Bodies litter the ground like broken battleships. How quickly everything changes, from quiet serenity to hellish insanity.

Bright, piercing heat sears her. Rey shouts, clutching her side. She has been shot. The pain throbs, pulsates like a thing alive, and she stumbles, losing her footing. Someone grabs her by the ankle and Rey kicks out, twisting and writhing, panic clouding her thoughts.

Then, suddenly, she is free. Rey sees a stormtrooper collapsing. A compatriot kneels nearby, cradling the dying soldier in their arms. Looking up, their gazes connect; blood stains the stormtrooper's mask red.

Everything slows down. The world fades away. Pulse pounding in her ears, it drowns out all other noise. A connection forms, a tether, a line drawn in the sand, from him to her.

_FN-2178. Report for duty._

 _Lock, load, fire._

 _Hurts. Everything hurts._

 _FN-2178. Report for duty._

 _March in time. One. Two. Three._

 _Heels clicking. Standing at attention. Rows of uniform white._

 _FN-2178. Report for duty._

 _Blood everywhere. Slip is gone. The ghost of his hand burns through the helmet._

 _FN-2178. FN. Finite. Finished. Find. Finn. Finn?_

 _Run._

"Rey," says Finn.

_Run._

She does, and he does, too. In unison, in concert.

The fight rages on around them. Madness and terror reign supreme. The Hawk waits in the distance, a safe haven. Rey spots BB-8, blinking and beeping, terrified and questioning and she cannot hear anything it says, only garbled nonsense, there is just  _him_  and pain and a pressing, overwhelming need to  _escape_.

Rey throws herself into the cockpit.  _He_  follows. She starts the engine, desperate, hitting it in a futile attempt to start --  _faster, faster, faster_. But no one seems to notice them, lost among the scrum, not until it is too late (or, perhaps, just in time).

The Hawk roars to life. Rey throttles the gas and it lurches forward. A blast glances off the hull and the ship groans, shudders, but remains airborne. She prays that her muscles memory from flying Kelvin Ravine as often as she has saves them from the encroaching darkness as well as enemy ships.

They drop down, away from the mesa, and flee toward safety, wherever that may be.

* * *

_Tekka falls and she feels his pain, bright and hot, lost in a flash of intense, raging crimson --_

_He_  looks at her, impossible to read, hidden behind a mask. But a shiver of understanding passes between them nonetheless, nonverbal, via unnatural means.

_\-- A cloaked figure towers over Tekka's crumpled body --_

Hazy and delirious with pain, she half-wonders if she will crash and kill them all. 

_\--He turns and looks at at her, hidden behind a mask --_

When they touch down near the AT-AT,  _he_  supports her weight and helps her limp inside.

_\-- Raises an arm, signals, stormtroopers mow down villagers while he watches on, impassive --_

She cries out as a great many voices are silenced.  _His_  gentle touch soothes her.

_\-- Another presence, baby blue contrasting rabid red --_  

Is this the power of the Force?

\-- _Panic, fear, a sandstorm of whirling emotion, and an Upsilon-class carrier ship ascends back into the sky, fleeing --_

(Who are you?) 

* * *

Rey dreams she's outside her AT-AT.

She dons an x-wing helmet, pretending to fly away, into the sky. There she finds her parents and rescues them from horrible slavers. They cry and hug her and tell her how much they missed her. Rey just holds them and refuses to let go. 

A shift occurs. Everything sharpens.

Noise rattles from inside the AT-AT.

Rey stands up. Heading back inside, she faces him. He turns and sticks her pilot doll behind his back, as if that will stop her from seeing it.

They stare at each other. She senses his embarrassment, and she is embarrassed too, for some reason, shyly tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, hand knocking against the x-wing helmet she forgot to take off. Rey cannot see him behind the mask, but she  _feels_  him, emotions tumultuous and difficult to parse.

"Finnally, you're awake," she says, like an idiot. He stares. "Finn. Your name. It's a... never mind."

"Finn." He sounds like he's tasting the word, testing it out for the first time. "Finn. F-I-N-N. And you're Rey."

Finn glances at the scratches on the wall. She nods, a lump sticking in her throat. "Take off your helmet and I'll take off mine?"

He says nothing. Brief reluctance emanates from him. So Rey goes first. After a moment Finn follows suit.

Rey stares. She has never seen any human with such dark skin. Most come in copper hues similar to the desert sand. Not that many humans reside on Jakku in the first place. His coloration reminds her of the rare, off-world loam Tekka keeps (kept) on display in a jar.

She longs to touch him, trace his wide cheekbones and blunt nose and large lips. He turns bashful and she realizes he also senses her train of thought. Rey flushes but does not understand why.

Finn turns the helmet over, studying it, avoiding eye contact, and says, "I feel like I've been asleep for a long time. And now I'm awake, but nothing makes sense."

Rey hesitates.

"Look at this," she says, tone commanding. 

Finn raises a quizzical brow in response. He has expressive features that reflect every passing thought. She is not used to that, his openness. Everyone on Jakku is closed-off. Self-sufficient.

Rey rifles through her sparse collection of personal belongings and uncovers a holovid. They sit down, side by side, backs against the tally marked wall. A tingle runs along her spine. Excitement and curiosity flickers from Finn in static bursts.

She turns it on.

Two figures appear. They stand straight and proud. A pretty woman places medals around their necks. Triumphant music plays, the fanfare swelling as an unseen audience cheers.

Rey hums along to the familiar, catchy tune. She knows the features of the two young men well, despite the blurred, cracked projector distorting their appearances. The holovid flickers and then plays again.

"I don't get it." Bemusement replaces Finn's anticipation. 

"They're heroes of the Rebellion," Rey says, like it's obvious. Tekka gave it to her. "Luke Skywalker. Han Solo. Come on, you must've heard of them. I mean, you're a --." 

She remembers all the horrible stories, then, in a rush, from the Battle of Jakku; recalls the violence at Tuanul.

Finn hesitates. He pushes back into her mind, a bit tentative, and now she sees through his eyes.

_An ocean of identical white. A lone, black shade._

_People screaming. Lasers singing. Slip dying._

_Slip. Slip is gone._

_Red marks his helmet. Claw marks. As if they are no better than animals._

_A girl on the ground, looking up at him, eyes wide, the world slows down and for the first time he can actually_ think _, her pain cuts through the fog and it lifts. He lowers his gun. Makes a choice._

Silence.

"History wasn't part of the regimen," Finn says.

Rey accepts it. She cannot blame him. Will not, for her own, selfish sake if nothing else.

"Sometimes, when I don't have anything to do... me and BB-8 make up stories." She changes the subject. "Like, maybe Luke and Han were secret lovers or something."

"What, really?" Finn asks. 

He sets aside the mask and fiddles with the doll instead. It looks small in his large hands.

"I have no idea. But it's fun to make-believe."

She hunches her shoulders and staves off the pathetic sense of self-loathing. He touches her hand, a bit hesitant, nervous but wanting to reassure her, and Rey jerks away as though bitten. A spark crawls up her arm. "Don't do that."

Rey wishes to suck the words back in, but it is too late. They just tumble out. Finn feels hurt but instead says, "Tell me more about this Luke and Han's... relationship."

Gratitude swells her throat shut. She clears it with difficulty.

"Well. They have history, you see. Saving the world and all that. But that doesn't mean there's not also time for _romance_."

"Of course." Finn fights back a smile, his amusement bright and sunny and warm, different from Jakku's punishing heat. Softer. She has never seen anyone with such nice teeth before. They flash white, a sharp contrast set within his dark face. 

People on Jakku slowly and perpetually break down like the rusted bits of machinery they scavenge. Even Rey, healthier than most due to youth, harbors no false illusions about her appearance. Unkar never holds back either (scrawny, flat-chested, eyes set too far apart, overbite...), which helps keep her self-esteem low.

Finn, on the other, looks fresh off a factory line. He becomes discomforted and she refocuses, not wanting to cause him distress.

"They complete their missions and all that. They're professionals. But sometimes they steal moments together. In the back of the hangar bay. The x-wing. Even the elevator, once. And whenever they leave to go on a mission, Luke will say, 'I love you' and then Han will say, 'I know'."

Rey pauses for dramatic effect. 

"You must have a lot of free time," Finn says. She bumps their shoulders together. He is broader, stocky, in comparison to her lean and wiry frame.

"They don't keep each other waiting." Rey turns serious. "They always come back home."

The heroes she constructs in her head never fail her.

"That sounds nice," Finn says. He means it, too. 

Rey rewinds the message. They listen to the fanfare play in the background. She enjoys the music most of all. It generates a feeling she cannot name, welling up like an oasis in her dry, cracked soul, a sense of triumph and hope and maybe even the peace Tekka often dreams (dreamt) about. The fact she can share that feeling with Finn is strange and exciting and wonderful and a little terrifying. 

He agrees.

"You're hurt. Bad," Finn says, turning troubled. He fusses with the pilot doll.

"I can take care of myself." A useless attempt at bravado. Finn does not respond. But his silence speaks louder than words.

"I'll try my best. To help." He looks earnest. Her breath hitches. 

A curious feeling overwhelms Rey and she blinks back tears. She has never placed trust in anyone else before, not even Tekka, not even BB-8, certainly not Unkar.

She swallows past the lump clogging her throat. "Thanks."


	2. Gold Lives Inside of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't understand why ao3 is being so annoying. It keeps screwing with my formatting and then it posted my a/n from last chapter onto this one. Sorry about that. Blargh.

Oppressive heat wakes Finn up. Stiff and gritty, sand works its way into the joints of his armor. Sometime during the long night he took Rey's doll and holovid off the shelf. They rest beside him, offering a silent comfort. 

Sunlight creeps through cracks in the AT-AT as dawn approaches. Sleep came in fits and starts throughout the night for Finn, afraid of cruisers swooping down out of the sky at any moment and dragging him back  _there_. He refuses to return, not now, not ever. But thus far they are safe.

Rey lies nearby, on the ground, unconscious. Finn took down her hammock, afraid she might toss and turn and tumble otherwise. Her chest rises and falls, quick and shallow. A thin film of sweat coats her face. She is pale, too pale. Something is wrong. Fever flows from her to him via their link.

Finn hovers nearby, worried. A blaster wound mars her leg, extending up her hip and torso. An ugly burn that blackens tan, freckled skin. She looks small, curling inward and collapsing on herself.

The droid, BB-8, also remains close, lights flashing and beeping, almost melancholy. Finn ignores the events that caused Rey's injury. He cannot think about that right now, it has not yet sunk in. Slip is -- but no. 

Standing and stretching, Finn proceeds to pace around, sorting through Rey's belongings, in hopes of finding bacta, medicine, food, water, something. Anything.

But Finn finds nothing. Just a droid and a doll and a holovid and a long dead pilot's helmet and an invisible connection thrumming, humming, shimmering between him and a girl he does not know and yet understands him.

Finn thinks about the dream. He whispers his new name, rolling it around on his tongue. It fits well. He wonders if Rey's eyes are that beautiful in reality -- a clear, sharp hazel capable of reigniting a dormant soul.

He plays the holovid again. The sound is distorted through his mask. After a moment of hesitation, Finn takes it off. He takes a deep breath and chokes on stale, dusty air. It feels strangely liberating.

Determination fills him. Finn searches the AT-AT for the umpteenth time. It is small, cramped, messy. Full of miscellaneous, useless crap. Tally marks decorate most of the walls, an innumerable countdown toward infinity.

Behind him, Rey mumbles something unintelligible. Dull pain throbs between them. Finn spins around and kneels beside BB-8. It starts and beeps, indignant.

"We need to do something," he says. "She's getting worse."

BB-8 responds, caustic and distrustful, rolling a few feet away, closer to Rey _._

Finn frowns and kneels beside the bot. "Look, buddy, you want to help Rey? Help me help her."

BB-8 falls silent. Then it rolls outside. Finn follows. It stops beside the freighter ship and swivels to face him.

He observes the ship. A HWK-290. He knows that thanks to Rey. Its hull still smokes from the beating it took last night.

"Hell no," Finn says. "That thing looks ready to blow. Besides, I don't know how to fly."

BB-8 beeps and spins in place, clearly frustrated. Finn sighs and massages his temples, staving off panic. Maybe he can try communicating with Rey again, through their dreams. His heart skips a beat at the thought.

A low hum distracts Finn. It grows louder. Head snapping up, his eyes widen upon spying a speeder cresting the far away dunes. The hum shifts into a loud buzz as it rapidly approaches. Finn shares a glance with BB-8, and then they both scramble back to safety.

Finn hides, keeping Rey in his peripheral. He inhales, wipes the sweat off his forehead, licks his chapped lips, and waits. BB-8 vanishes into some unseen corner. 

He hears the engine cut out. Silence. It stretches out, on and on and on. Finn wishes someone will tell him what to do. He is good at following orders. The anticipation becomes unbearable.

A long shadow blots out the entrance light. A figure clad in dusty brown robes enters. The stranger faces Rey, considering her.

Finn tackles him. He yelps and they collapse, wrestling on the ground. Strong and nimble, the stranger breaks Finn's grip and scrambles back, holding up his hands.

"S-Stop! I mean you no harm," he says. The man takes off his hood -- he is older, hair an unruly grey mop, face worn and wrinkled. Nonthreatening. 

Finn hesitates, taken aback. This is not what he expects. The man seems strangely familiar, an echo of something long forgotten. Freezing up, Finn shoots a pleading look toward Rey. But she remains unconscious. Her thoughts and emotions are murky. Distant.  _Fading_.

What other choice does he have? The stranger appears peaceful. Finn needs help, more help than a mere astromech droid can provide. They stand there, watching one another, both breathing hard. The man's gaze flickers, observing Finn's armor.

"This a trick?" Finn asks.

He eyes the man, suspicious.

"No tricks." The stranger now stares at Rey in a manner that bothers Finn. "She's hurt?"

"... Yeah."

He takes a step, slow and cautious, palms still beseeching. "I can help."

Those are the words Finn needs to hear, above all else. Defenses crumbling, his own hands drop to his sides and unclench.  "Okay."

The man kneels beside Rey and touches her brow. Something ripples between them and Finn cries out in shock, "What are you doing?!"

"You felt that?" He jerks back, scrutinizing Finn with bright blue eyes.

"Don't hurt her. Please."

"I won't." He resumes touching Rey, watching Finn too. Intrigue slides across the man's face. Then concentration replaces it.

Warmth glows through Finn. Blue in the form of song. It moves from the man to Rey, a gentle melody.

Rey breathes, slower, easier, less laborious. Color returns to her cheeks. Pain recedes. 

"You came from Tuanul?" The man gestures. Finn blinks and finds himself. Returns to ground with a heavy thump. Fear and suspicion claws at his heart.

"N-no. I've never heard of that place."

A long silence. Rey's life signature, once a flickering candlelight in the wind, burns steady.

"You're Force sensitive, you know?" asks the man. "You and the girl. The girl especially. She called to me, and it was so strong, I... she drew me here. It blotted everything out, like a solar eclipse. Although what you share between you -- I don't know it."

He sounds almost puzzled.

"Impossible." Finn laughs.

_They_  would have sniffed out a Force user in their midst long ago. A simple stormtrooper using the Force is preposterous. And yet, what else explains his connection with Rey? A flame ignites in his heart at the notion of being something  _more_. Even as Finn laughs, he wants to believe it.

"I felt it. I feel it, still, moving between you two."

Finn does not know how to respond, and thus stays quiet. The man continues after a brief, polite pause.

"I came to this planet to visit an old friend. And then I thought I found someone I lost long ago. But instead it is -- different than I expected." His voice breaks and grief flashes across his face. The healing connection wavers and then strengthens once more. Rey now appears more at ease, her forehead smooth, tension-free. "Come with me."

That catches Finn off guard. He gapes.

"W-what?"

"I can train you to be a Jedi," says the man. 

"A what?" Finn stares.

"A warrior trained in the Force."

"Why would I want that?"

The man looks like he does not quite know what to say, like that is his trump card and that it failed stumps him. His brow furrows. "There's nothing for you here. Or her."

True.

Finn thinks about it. He does not trust the stranger, but wants to trust him. And that word, Jedi. It stirs something inside Finn, makes him feel, feel special. Not just another cog in the machine.

And if,  _if_ , it is true that he has the Force, and so does Rey, maybe this opportunity can protect them from  _them_. Surely  _they_  will try to reclaim or destroy Finn. He might not trust this man, but he has helped, and nothing terrifies Finn more than  _them_.

_No traitors_. The mantra echos, over and over again, to the crack of a whip. 

"Why don't you both come back to my ship?" suggests the man. "I have more medical supplies there, as well as food and water. You can think it over, at least."

Finn's stomach rumbles. And he is thirsty. That seals it.

"Fine. She's Rey." He gestures. "And I'm Finn."

Making this distinction seems important. Finn. Not FN-2187. Not anymore. Not ever again. 

"My name is..." The man gives Finn another once over, eyes lingering on the stormtrooper armor. "Jake. A pleasure to meet you, Finn."

Jake extends a hand. Finn just stares, before glancing in BB-8's general direction. 

"Do you want to tag along?" he asks. 

BB-8 sticks out a lighter, the universal sign for a thumbs up. Or perhaps it is flipping Finn off. He supposes it does not matter either way.

* * *

Finn carries Rey to the speeder. She is heavier than he expects, dead weight, but he refuses to let go. She slumbers away, burn less prominent, fever manageable. 

He wonders what she will say upon waking up. Surely Rey will appreciate their good fortune, that they can escape this miserable rock and learn more about their bond? And, maybe, the Force? Finn knows little about the mysterious Force, mostly hearing whispers concerning Kylo Ren. He once saw Kylo Ren stop a blaster bolt in midair.

That is a Bad Memory.

Finn tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, like how Rey did in the dream, struggling to come to terms with the confusing whirl of emotions inside him. He spots Jake stealing looks their way, but the other man remains quiet as he drives through golden waves.

BB-8 utters a noise that Finn swears is full of contempt. He frowns at it. A tense, uneasy silence accompanies them to what Jake calls "Niima Outpost". They pass various old, broken down objects and people. The speeder slows, approaching a rather decrepit ship that stands apart from the rest of the outpost.

A human and an alien argue outside the ship's entrance. The human is older, weathered, and yet something about his demeanor seems inherently likable. He carries himself with a roguish charm. The alien is large, flabby, jowls quivering as he gesticulates. Finn recognizes him as a crolute.

They exit the speeder and both swivel toward them.

"That's  _not_  Ben," says the human. 

"That's _my_  scavenger," says the crolute, indignant. Taken by surprise, Finn tightens his grip on Rey.

"Ben isn't here anymore," says Jake. "We're leaving."

"You can't just park in  _my_ shipyard, with  _my_ best scavenger, and then expect to just  _leave_! I  _demand_  compensation!" shouts the crolute.

Finn decides he heartily dislikes this crolute.

"You will go back to your stand, forget this ever happened, and think about your life choices," says Jake.

"I will go back to my stand, forget this ever happened, and think about my life choices." The alien's voice goes slack, draining free of emotion. It is almost eerie and perturbs Finn, reminds him of stormtroopers after reconditioning. Jake turns away.

"Let's go."

"What's going on?" asks the other man. They walk up the ramp of the freighter. Finn lags behind a bit, struggling to carry Rey. The droid rolls along beside them all. "Want any help, kid?"

"I'm fine," he grunts.

"She has an infection and needs care. Both of them do," says Jake. 

The other man reconsiders them. He sighs, runs a hand through his hair, and nods.

"Well, then. All aboard."

They walk up the ramp and it closes behind them, like a jaw clamping down on its prey.

* * *

Finn drinks the water straight from the pitcher. He drinks it so fast he chokes, sputtering and dribbling precious liquid down his chin. Rey recovers in a nearby room, still unconscious but stable, having been administered bacta. Finn hopes she will wake soon.

Jake sits across from him. They watch one another. The other man has disappeared into the cockpit, alongside a rather surely wookie (Finn makes a mental note to avoid the wookie when possible, he values his arms in their sockets).

"Who's Ben?" Finn asks as he reaches for a nutrition bar.

"My nephew," Jake replies.

Finn munches on his nutrition bar in contemplative silence. It tastes bland but the texture is interesting, an improvement over the rations he once received daily. He considers learning more about this mysterious nephew, but another, more pertinent question bubbles up.

"You really think I can use the Force?" Finn blurts out.

Jake smiles. He looks younger when he smiles.

"Yes. And I can prove it. Close your eyes."

Finn listens. Another mind brushes against his own, intrusive in comparison to Rey. His brow furrows.

_Focus. Clear your thoughts._

He obeys. It is easy. Puts everything in a box and tucks it away, as he often does during Bad Memories.

_Look, Finn. You did it._

He opens his eyes. The half-empty pitcher of water wobbles an inch off the table. Elation overrides his clarity and it clatters back down. Finn whoops.

"I did it!" he says, laughing, triumphant, scarcely able to believe what he just accomplished. Satisfaction and even pride floods him. 

_I did that. Me._

Before Jake can reply, the other man reappears.

"We've got company. Your friend apparently thought over his life choices, and decided to share them with us. Brought a bunch of his buddies too, it's like a damn intervention."

Jake swivels toward Finn.

"We need to leave. You need a teacher. Both of you do. Come with us, Finn," he says. Caught off-guard, Finn startles and wishes, not for the first time, that Rey could help him figure this all out. " _Now_ , Finn. Make a decision."

"O-okay. We'll stay with you guys."

"Let's go," Jake turns toward his friend. The ship's engines rumble to life. 

The other man nods and shouts over his shoulder, "Get us out of here, Chewie!"

An inhuman roar answers, and Finn hopes he has not just made a terrible mistake.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write in present tense, because I thought it would feel more... movie-ish, if that makes sense. That said, I don't often write in present tense, so feel free to call me out if I fuck it up.
> 
> edit: Ao3's random, bizarre formatting drives my ocd nuts. I keep trying to fix it but apologies if I miss some of the weird spacing.


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